


Howling at the Moon

by rhysiana



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Handwaving in hockey's general direction, Kent Parson is a cryptid, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent was going to lose this fucking faceoff, all because of his stupid fucking teeth. He could feel them trying to elongate behind his mouth guard as he bent over the ice, gripping his stick with a loose readiness that had long become second nature. He should have been concentrating everything on detecting the slightest indication the ref was going to drop the puck, but instead… he was fighting with his teeth.</p>
<p>He felt the ref start to shift. Screw it, the mouth guard would hide most of it anyway. He grinned, wide and feral, across the faceoff circle at his opponent, and, yeah, maybe he growled. He didn’t care; he let the adrenaline take him as the puck hit the ice the barest second before his stick connected, and then he was flying.</p>
<p>God, Kent loved hockey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howling at the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weird_situation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weird_situation/gifts).



> For weird_situation, who asked for Kent as a werewolf and Tater showing up at some point. Now we all know the real reason behind Parse's color-changing eyes and unmanageable hair.
> 
> Beta by M, who is at best bemused by my foray into fan fiction, and @storiesfromtheden, who gleefully aids and abets me.

Kent was going to lose this fucking faceoff, all because of his stupid fucking teeth. He could feel them trying to elongate behind his mouth guard as he bent over the ice, gripping his stick with a loose readiness that had long become second nature. He _should_ have been concentrating everything on detecting the slightest indication the ref was going to drop the puck, but instead… he was fighting with his teeth.

He felt the ref start to shift. _Screw it_ , the mouth guard would hide most of it anyway. He grinned, wide and feral, across the faceoff circle at his opponent, and, yeah, maybe he growled. He didn’t care; he let the adrenaline take him as the puck hit the ice the barest second before his stick connected, and then he was _flying_.

God, Kent loved hockey.

***

Kent definitely did not look up to catch the startled look on the ref’s face, but it didn’t last more than a second anyway, before the ref himself was caught up in his usual adroit dodging of accidental checks as he tracked the puck across the ice.

***

“Parse! Parse!” The reporters crowded in front of Kent’s stall in the dressing room after the game, as usual. He’d divert them off to the other guys in a few minutes, but he was the captain, after all. If there was no getting away from the attention, why not embrace it?

He pointed vaguely at a woman near the front, mostly to get them all to stop talking over one another. “What are you going to do to celebrate the win tonight?”

He grinned again, trying to keep it charming and not _pointy_. “Oh, you know, just a little howling at the moon.”

They all laughed; it was Vegas, after all. So did he, mostly in anticipation of what he was going to find when he next looked at his phone. He was going to be in _so much trouble_ for that answer. He couldn’t wait.

_Bzzt._

Sure enough, there it was.

**Jack:** You did not just say that.

**Kent:** I sure did!

**Jack:** Kent…

**Kent:** Lighten up, man, it’s Vegas, no one cares.

**Jack:** Why do you always have to push it?

**Kent:** Why do you always play it so safe?

**Kent:** I’m out. Gotta hit those clubs! l8r!

“Who’s going out tonight, boys?” he called as he threw the rest of his stuff in his bag. He grinned at the chorus of affirmative responses he got back. Jack didn’t know what he was missing.

***

Eric followed Kent on Twitter. Via an anonymous account, of course, as he did for all the NHL players he found interesting, because he didn’t want to appear biased in his refereeing if anyone ever bothered to check. Which, honestly, he didn’t think was really a thing that was likely to happen, but, well, certain other parts of his life had instilled in him a healthy sense of paranoia, and he didn’t really consider that a bad thing.

“Stop stalling,” he muttered to himself. Getting sidetracked into thoughts about whether the NHL was likely to check who he followed on Twitter wasn’t going to help solve the present mystery. He followed Kent on Twitter, which is how he knew Kent and the other guys from the team were in this particular club, which he was going to go into _right now_ to see if he could gather more evidence to confirm his theory. He was here to do a job, after all.

He squared his shoulders and walked into the club.

***

Kent ducked into the men’s room briefly and checked his hair. Dammit, it was going to be one of _those_ nights. He dragged his fingers through his cowlicks, trying to at least somewhat tame them, but no. It was really too much to hope for with the moon so nearly full. Oh well, it wasn’t like people didn’t already expect his hair to be a perpetual mess. He’d just dance until it looked like it was due to exertion. He grinned at his reflection. Hell, maybe he’d dance until it looked like it was due to someone else’s fingers.

Goals, man, you had to have goals.

He spotted his goal as soon as he got back in sight of the dance floor. _Hello!_ Kinda short (not that Kent had a lot of room to talk), blonde, with a lithely muscled body that was being _nicely_ shown off by a clubbing shirt Kent definitely approved of.

Knowing that this was absolutely not the kind of situation Jack had ever intended his Uncle Wayne’s “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take” advice to be used for, he gave his inner killjoy Jack the finger and made a beeline for the cute guy. “Hey,” he said, with a smile he had it on good authority was charming. The guy’s (beautiful, brown) eyes widened slightly. _A hockey fan? Good to know._ “Wanna dance?”

“Oh… I, um, sure!”

Kent was of course anticipating blowing the guy away with his moves on the floor, but it turned out the guy might actually be able to show him a thing or two, which Kent turned out to be surprisingly okay with. His competitive side was happy to take a back seat to… whatever side it was that was enjoying this display very, very much. Kent could feel his eyes start to go a bit silver. Whoops. Well, hopefully the guy wouldn’t notice. “Hey,” he said loudly as he leaned in to be heard over the music, “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Eric,” the other guy replied, smiling.

And that was when two things hit Kent all at once: 1) The guy, Eric, hadn’t bothered to yell over the music, and 2) he smelled really familiar. Kent’s thoughts raced as he tried to place the scent. He knew he’d smelled it recently. Today, even. He took a step back, now acting almost entirely on instinct. “You’re… you were the ref at the game today.” Why did that knowledge seem to be setting off alarm bells?

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me,” Eric said with a shrug, still smiling. “Lord, I’m getting thirsty. Want anything?” He turned and headed for the bar. He still wasn’t yelling over the music. _Did he know? How?_

Kent trailed him across the floor, watching as Eric dodged the other dancers with completely unconscious grace, which, yes, now Kent could place Eric as a ref they’d had at their games on a pretty regular basis. Quick on his feet. Never got accidentally checked. There was a flash of a memory of Eric looking intensely focused as he balanced nimbly on the boards to avoid interfering with a play on the ice. Huh.

When he caught up with Eric at the bar, he tapped his fingers two times at Christian and got a slight nod in return. Non-alcoholic cocktails from here on out. He was starting to feel like impaired thinking would be a poor plan. He scanned the edges of the room quickly, and once they had collected their drinks, led the way to a miraculously empty booth in the corner.

Kent wasn’t much of one for beating around the bush. “So, is meeting you here just a coincidence?” He raised an eyebrow as took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving Eric’s face. He wanted to be sure he caught all possible reactions.

Eric calmly took a sip of his own drink and answered with matching forthrightness, “Not so much. You tweeted where you were.”

“You… follow me on Twitter?” _Kent, that is so not the point. Stay on track here._ “I mean, so? Why did you bother follow me?”

Now Eric did flush a bit. “I wasn’t _following_ you. I just… wanted to talk to you.”

“You a fan?” Kent leered, though his heart wasn’t in it. It was too much to hope for that it would be something that simple. He started tapping a finger against his glass, a nervous habit, but he figured it was harmless enough.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the reason.” Eric looked at Kent’s finger significantly. Kent looked down. His fingernail was a great deal sharper than it had been a minute ago.

Kent cursed.

“How long has it been since you went on a run?” Eric asked.

“I run every morning.”

“No, I mean a _run_.”

Kent was starting to feel a little panicked now. “Uh…” How had this conversation gotten so out of his control?

“Look, do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere we can talk without,” Erik gestured vaguely around, “so many potential cameras?”

“S-sure.”

Kent followed Eric out of the club, stunned.

***

Eric took them to an all-night diner. “They have the best pie,” he said, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Kent ordered a coffee and, after Eric’s look of disbelief, a piece of pie. Might as well confirm the claim. He wondered how he should bring up the subject of why they were there.

Eric solved the problem for him. “So. Let me actually introduce myself. Eric Bittle,” he said, holding out his hand. Kent shook it, bemused. “You already know I’m one of your refs, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you tonight.”

“I kind of figured.”

They fell quiet as their coffee and pie arrived, but as soon as the waiter was out of range, Eric continued.

“To go back to my original question, when was the last time you went for a run?”

“Uh… last month.”

“So you’re basically only going when necessary.” Eric glanced at Kent’s fingernails again, which were thankfully entirely human-looking at the moment, but then also at Kent’s hair. Kent fought the urge to try to flatten it. “Does this happen every month?”

“No! I mean, not really. Just a little.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Look, who are you? What are you? You’re not… like me, I’d be able to smell it.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just human. But I study people like you. My whole family does. The person who had been covering the Southwest died last year, and when my dad realized how conveniently mobile being a referee was, he arranged to have me transferred out here. Otherwise I think he was planning to send one of my cousins.”

As he rambled on, Kent caught a Southern accent that definitely wasn’t from a desert state. “Where are you from? And what do you mean, people like me?” He was torn between his curiosity and a desire to see if one more last-ditch attempt to bluff his way out of this would work.

“Georgia. And you know what I mean, but I can be more specific, since you seem to need it. Werewolves. Also vampires, merpeople, Sasquatch, and Fair Folk, though none of them tend to frequent this area of the country. I was hoping to expand my knowledge of other varieties of skinwalkers here, maybe meet some of the nagas that moved here a few decades ago.”

Kent was pretty sure he had stopped breathing. His eyes were definitely starting to silver again. Eric gave him an unimpressed look. “Lock it down. How did you get to this point? Where is your pack leader? I have a few things to say to him.”

“Montreal,” Kent said faintly. He took a deep breath and tried to focus.

“Bad Bob? He would never…!” Eric exclaimed.

“You know him?!”

“Not personally, but of course I know who he is. He would never let a wolf with such poor control out of his area!”

“He… doesn’t know. Look, it’s not his fault. My mom raised me by herself. She didn’t know what I was until…”

“Your first change? Ah, I see.”

“When she figured it out, she managed to get in touch with the pack and sent me up to Montreal. He took me in like a son! He taught me everything. And I was fine. But I didn't want to stick around there forever, and when the NHL draft came up, I kind of… entered without him knowing? And then it was too late. He knew Vegas would pick me up, which is why he didn’t want me or Jack in the draft. Free agency would have been fine, because he could have arranged it so we both stayed nearby. But… I just wanted a chance to be normal again, you know?”

Eric looked at him with sympathy. “I understand the desire, but you know you can’t just wish it away, right? It’s part of who you are. You have to take care of yourself.”

Kent fiddled with his fork and took a bite of pie. It was good. He concentrated on the taste as hard as he could. All he wanted was to play hockey and flirt with good-looking people and live his damn life, was that really too much to ask? He could feel a growl rising in his throat. He took a hasty sip of coffee to force it down.

Eric noticed anyway. “Look, let me make some calls. I can help, I know I can.”

“No! Don’t tell Bad Bob! He’d have me traded to the Habs tomorrow. I _like_ my life here!” Kent could hear that he was dangerously close to whining, but he didn’t care.

“It’s fine, I promise. I won’t call Bad Bob. I know you don’t really know me, but do you trust me?”

Kent took a long breath, inhaling as much of Eric’s scent as he could. Even before he knew what he was, he’d developed the habit of forming impressions of people this way, and he’d learned to trust it. Eric seemed… good. Solid. Like… sunlight? “Yeah, I trust you.”

Eric beamed. “Good.” He patted Kent’s hand. “Now, I want you to promise me you’ll go for a run, a real run, tonight. You don’t have another game for a few days, and I know you don’t have a morning skate tomorrow, so it won’t matter if you get home late. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you what I’ve pulled together.”

***

“Dicky?” Eric’s mother’s voice echoed down the line. “We weren’t expecting you to call for another few days. Is everything okay?”

“Well, I found a new werewolf.”

“Oh? How’d you find him?”

“At work. It’s Kent Parson.”

Suzanne laughed delightedly. “Really? Gracious, the NHL just seems full of ’em. Does Bad Bob know about him?”

“Of course. Apparently he raised him, more or less. But…”

“But?”

“Well, he’s having some control problems. He hasn’t been changing enough, trying to blend in.”

“Ah. That poor boy.”

“Can we help? Without having Coach tell Bad Bob, I mean. Kent… I like him. I know what it’s like to want to be normal.”

“Oh, baby, I know.” She thought for a few moments. “I think I know someone. Just be ready to pick him up at the airport.”

***

“Hello! I am Alexei!” the giant man boomed, spreading his arms wide in an imminent hug that Eric really hoped he could avoid. He stuck out his hand quickly.

“Hi! I’m Eric. Uh, Bittle.” Alexei took the change to a handshake in stride.

“Yes, your mama told me. I think I will call you Bitty! So!” said Alexei. The exclamation points seemed to be a permanent part of his speech. “Where is boy I must teach? We go!”

“This way.” Eric led the way to his car and then checked the address Kent had texted him. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

***

Kent was pacing his living room restlessly. He had gone for a run the night before, and he would admit it had definitely helped, but he still needed to be _moving_. Now that Eric had drawn attention to it, he was suddenly hyperaware of how fine a line he was walking. All the time. Jesus, how long had he been like this?

The door buzzer sounded and he rushed to answer it. “It’s me,” Eric said, waving at the entry camera, a second person vaguely visible behind him. Kent buzzed him in and then stood fidgeting in the hallway until there was a knock at his door. He yanked it open.

“Hi, Kent. This,” Eric gestured behind him at a frankly enormous man, “is Alexei.”

Kent stared for a second, then shook himself. “Uh, hi. Come in.” He stood back to let them in.

The enormous man was looking around Kent’s apartment with undisguised interest. “Is very nice!”

“Er, thanks.” Kent wasn’t used to feeling this unsure about anything.

Eric took one look at him and seemed to understand. “Okay, why don’t we all sit down and talk about why we’re here?”

Alexei looked down at him with a smile and amenably seated himself on the couch. Kent perched on the edge of an armchair, too nervous to even resort to his normal bravado-filled slouch.

“So I called my mama last night and explained your problem, Kent, and she sent Alexei here,” Eric started.

“Yes! Suzanne, such a good woman. She tells me much. You are having problems with controlling change, yes?” Alexei turned his bright eyes directly on Kent, who swallowed.

“Yeah. I guess I haven’t been shifting enough… Look, you’re not going to tell Bad Bob, are you?” He couldn’t contain it anymore.

Alexei waved one huge hand. “No no no. This is why Suzanne called me! Just smell, you can tell why, too.”

Kent took a deep breath. It was true, Alexei was…not a werewolf. Something else.

Alexei watched him closely and smiled broadly as he saw the realization dawn. “Yes! Not wolf. I do not report to your Bad Bob. He is very nice man, I know, but I am not his.” He slapped his broad chest. “I am bear!”

“Oh!” Eric exclaimed. His hand twitched toward his bag, sitting on the floor by his chair.

Alexei noticed. “Is fine, you can take notes. I have met Bittles before.”

Eric immediately dove into the bag for a notebook and pen. “Y’all talk. Just ignore me!”

Kent was beginning to suspect there was a lot more to the cryptid community than he’d thought.

“Well!” Alexei clapped his hands and stood to cross the living room. He reached down and took Kent’s chin in his hand. He turned his face side to side, studying his eyes. “You are not so bad. I have seen worse. We can fix, no problem.”

Kent felt himself relax, at least slightly. Alexei’s confidence was both contagious and soothing. “You seem sure.”

“Yes. Suzanne, she call me because this is my job. I train our new bears. I think… maybe I am better choice for you anyway, because many times bears live alone. We are not always together, like the wolves. They will not understand your problem. I will help you.”

Kent was definitely sitting up straighter now. He could feel his weight settling into the floor, the need to constantly move dissipating.

“Now, strip.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kent saw Eric turn bright red. He grinned.

“I—I’ll just, uh, leave for a while, yeah? I’ve got… some errands to run…”

“Yes, yes, Bitty, you go have your day! Come back later, yes?”

“Of course! I’ll, uh, see y’all later!”

“Grab the key by the door on your way out, yeah? Dunno whether I’ll have hands or paws when you want to come back in.”

Kent started to unbutton his shirt, and Eric (Bitty? it suited him) practically bent his notebook in half shoving it into his bag.

“Thanks. Bye!” He didn’t quite run from the room, but the door did shut very emphatically behind him.

Alexei snapped to get Kent’s attention, and they began.

***

When Eric returned about five hours later, thinking he should see what the two undoubtedly hungry cryptids would want to do about dinner, he knocked but got no answer, so he used the key and let himself in. He only just managed to repress his “Awwwwwwww!” at the scene that greeted him.

A giant black bear lay sleeping in the middle of the living room, curled around a white-gold wolf, both clearly exhausted. He set his bag down as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake them. He sent a quick pic to his mother via their private Snapchat. The bear cracked an eye and looked at him. “Hi,” he whispered.

The bear uncurled himself from around the wolf and rose slowly onto his hind legs as he began to change. Eric quickly turned around. Not that the process of the change wasn’t interesting, but it always made him a little queasy to watch, and at the end Alexei would be, well, naked. He started singing Beyoncé in his head to distract himself until a throat cleared behind him.

He turned to find Alexei dressed in jeans, though he was still shirtless and barefoot. His shirt hung over the back of a nearby chair, but he made no move to retrieve it.

Eric cleared his throat. “So… how’s it going?”

Alexei smiled. “Is good. Little wolf will be fine. He just try too hard to be human all the time. Needs balance.”

Eric let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh, good. That’s what I thought.”

“Good you call me, though. He was very…,” Alexei rocked his hand back and forth, “…how to say? On the edge.”

The wolf on the floor rolled onto his back and stretched before opening his eyes and cracking his mouth into a wide canine grin.

“Feeling better, are you?” Eric asked, smiling back. “I know you two must be starving now. What would you like for dinner?”

Alexei frowned slightly. “Oh. He should not change back right now.”

“No, that’s fine, I meant what should I make for y’all?”

Kent-the-wolf rolled over and lifted his head expectantly. Alexei’s brows rose. “You will cook for us?”

“Well, of course! It’s the least I can do, after you came all the way here just because my mama called you. And we know all about the caloric needs of cryptids. It’s not that much different from cooking to feed a football team. Or a hockey team.”

“Wonderful! You make, you pick.”

***

Kent spent the rest of the weekend training with Alexei, sleeping curled up with the giant bear (he didn’t miss the pack, he _didn’t_ , but he would admit it was nice to sleep surrounded by fur again), and, somehow, sitting on the couch with his head in Bitty’s lap getting his head petted while Bitty and Alexei watched a _Deadliest Catch_ marathon on TV.

When the day of his next practice rolled around and he had to change back to his human form for real, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so settled in his own skin. Alexei clapped him on the shoulder as he picked up his bag. “You remember what I said, yes? No more this staying human all the time nonsense.”

“I know. I got it.”

“And I’m coming over to go running in the mornings now,” chimed in Bitty from where he stood next to the door, keys out and ready to take Alexei to the airport. “A guy running with a giant blonde dog isn’t the weirdest thing people in Vegas will have seen by a long shot.”

Alexei nodded his approval. “And I will find more reason to travel here now. Check up on you!” This time he pulled Kent into a hug before he moved to the door.

Kent hesitated and then asked Bitty, “Can I hug you, too? I just…”

“C’mere.” Bitty wrapped his arms around Kent’s waist, and Kent muttered into his hair, “Thank you.”

Bitty pulled back. “Of course!”

Kent felt his cheeks heat. What was he, fifteen again? “No, I mean it. I feel like… like I have friends again. Like I don’t have to hide all the time.”

Bitty squeezed him firmly again. “Oh, honey.” Then he stepped back. “Okay, I’ve got to get Alexei to the airport, and you’ve got to get to practice. I’ll see you later, mister!”

Kent watched them from his window as they made their way across the street to Bitty’s car. He was honestly looking forward to practice more than usual. He felt… whole.

Kent loved hockey _and_ he was starting to really love the rest of his life.

Maybe he’d go out and howl at the moon tonight, for real. He smiled. He allowed it to be pointy.

**Author's Note:**

> -In case you can't tell, I'm imagining the Bittles as a family of cryptozoologists a la Seanan McGuire's InCryptid book series, so if you're looking for more awesome cryptid interactions, I highly recommend it. (I'm not using the same lore/universe as she is, though, just pulling the idea of a family tradition of monster observation.)
> 
> -Uh, maybe I should add a note that Tater is not a bear because of Russian stereotyping? It 100% didn't even occur to me until I was looking at a post about avoiding Russian clichés in fic. He's just a bear because he's ginormous and I needed him to not be a wolf for the purposes of this story. I spent a good fifteen minutes trying to come up with some other plausible werecreature for him to be, but I'm sorry, he's very stubbornly a bear now.


End file.
